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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27633299">Remedial Flight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruxcantare/pseuds/cruxcantare'>cruxcantare</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Titans (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Acrobatics, Alfred Pennyworth is a great dad, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, American Sign Language, Bruce Wayne is... somewhere in between, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, M/M, Possession, Slade Wilson Is A Bad Dad, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:00:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,327</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27633299</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruxcantare/pseuds/cruxcantare</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick tries to handle losing Jericho and the Titans. One of those is not as dead as he thinks. Set pre season one, 2014.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Grayson/Joseph Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Remedial Flight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>If you haven't seen 2.08, I guess there's enough spoilers within to warrant a warning. Bits of dialog from Jericho's parents are lifted from the show.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">It was always more of a memory than a dream.</p><p class="p1">“<em>No</em>. No no no!”</p><p class="p1">Dick could see the blood dripping off the blade, ripped through Jericho’s shirt. All he could do was breathe ragged breaths as he fought to hold onto consciousness, fought to do anything for Jericho. He would have done anything for Jericho if he could.</p><p class="p1">Jericho’s body vibrated with pain as his body buckled forward. Dick could hear another slice of the sword, and he wondered if that one was meant for him.</p><p class="p1">“Hold on son. Jer…”</p><p class="p1">The room was going dark.</p><p class="p1">“Dick…”</p><p class="p1">That was Jericho. Dick was sure of it.</p><p class="p1">“<em>Look</em>…”</p><p class="p1">Dick still doesn’t think he was able to give Jericho his dying wish.</p><p class="p1">“Son…”</p><p class="p1">For some reason, the dream always ends with gentle fingers on his face, and Dick vacillated between whether that was the person who found his body, or if Jericho found some way to give Dick one last goodbye. He had no way of knowing.</p><p class="p1">Dick had that dream the first time the night before Donna, Hank, and Dawn all admitted they were leaving the Titans, all admitted they were leaving him. In retrospect, it should have been obvious. Any conversations about Garth, Donna’s recovery, Deathstroke, and especially Jericho happened behind his back. Dick tried to chalk it up to Dawn and Hank tip toeing around his own recovery, but once it became clear Donna was part of these conversations, Dick should’ve known.</p><p class="p1">Dick earned it.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Twenty-nine hours later, the door opened, and Dick thought Donna must have left something. Dick hadn’t yet broken the habit of cooking for five—or nine considering Donna and Garth’s appetites—and he was subsiding on third-day leftovers.</p><p class="p1">“Master Dick.”</p><p class="p1">“Alfred.” His name came out like a gasp. Dick couldn’t help the run, near tackling Alfred with the hug. The older man wrapped his arms around him, and they stood like that for far too long, their bodies swaying a bit.</p><p class="p1">“I’m so sorry I didn’t come earlier.”</p><p class="p1">Leave it to Alfred, to apologize for not anticipating Dick’s needs. To apologize for not being there when it was Dick who fucked up royally.</p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry I didn’t call.”</p><p class="p1">Alfred stayed for three days. If this was no longer going to be Titans tower, he suggested, then perhaps it could be a lovely bachelor pad. Dick allowed Alfred to take control of his life in a way he hadn’t since he was ten. There was a warm meal at the same time three times a day, there was a constant barrage of furniture being brought in and out, but most importantly, there was someone there who loved Dick Grayson.</p><p class="p1">Alfred didn’t need to be told not to touch the others’ rooms. He locked each— Hank’s, Donna’s, Garth’s, Jericho’s— and put the keys in the room that once held all their costumes. That room was locked as well, the key somewhere in the command center.</p><p class="p1">“You don’t have to baby me, Alfred.”</p><p class="p1">“Of course, Master Dick,” Alfred said warmly. “Pie with dinner tonight?”</p><p class="p1">“Only if you’ve been craving it as well.”</p><p class="p1">Dick insisted on setting the table himself, allowing Alfred to sit for a moment. Alfred had gone for comfort food and knocked it out of the park, a hearty stew with chunks of beef, carrots, and potatoes. Dick ladled soup out into both bowls, before using the spoon to pull out a small piece of meat, grabbing it with his fingers and popping it into his mouth.</p><p class="p1">“Impatient?”</p><p class="p1">Dick laughed. “I’m sorry Alfred, I just… missed your cooking.”</p><p class="p1">All that was missing was Bruce at the table, but he didn’t need to ask where Bruce was. There was always a doctor with a doomsday device, always a clown with his thumb on the trigger.</p><p class="p1">“Hold up Alfred, I know this one…” Dick placed Alfred’s plate in front of him first. “The Bordeaux or the Malbec?”</p><p class="p1">“The Achával Ferrer should be on the counter.”</p><p class="p1">Dick laughed. He’d almost forgotten how good Alfred was at his job.</p><p class="p1">When Dick began to clear the table, after two bowls and a slice of pie, Alfred set his hand on Dick’s elbow.</p><p class="p1">“Might I suggest something, Master Dick?”</p><p class="p1">“Anything.”</p><p class="p1">“You’ve spent an awful long time burdened with duty. Why not see what it’s like to be a young man for a couple weeks?” When Alfred looked at him like that, Dick felt extraordinary. “Robin will always be there, but you won’t always be a young man.”</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">It was something Bruce often did, more so before Dick’s adoption, but afterwards as well. He played a role. He partied and let people think him arrogant and foolish and he slept with women young enough to be Dick’s sister.</p><p class="p1">Dick took another path. Sure, there were bars, but Dick had no desire to be the media darling. No, he couldn’t be Bruce, any more than he could be Batman. Dawn had been wrong, they all had been so heartbreakingly wrong about him. When he’d left Gotham, college had been the excuse, and after a while with the Titans, it was all too easy to coast through on a couple classes and devote himself to his friends and to the world.</p><p class="p1">A rich kid blowing off college for friends? Dick could play into the cliche for the Titans. The Titans were finished, and so was this. Maybe for once in his life he could be a student first.</p><p class="p1">Dick saw multiple futures in front of him. A badge, and the more legal side of law enforcement, seemed like a middle ground between Dick Grayson and Robin. He could always fall back on his inheritance and become Dick Grayson, billionaire industrialist. After school, he could get in on the ground floor of one of the subdivisions of Wayne Enterprises, perhaps via the Wayne Institute.</p><p class="p1">Of course, one future was red, green, and gold; his mother’s affectionate nickname twisted into a paragon of vigilante justice. There was nothing he could learn in college about how to be a better Robin.</p><p class="p1">He didn’t notice he’d signed up for an American Sign Language course until it was time to check out.</p><p class="p1">Dick paused, and then went to his record collection. He knew which one had Jericho’s name on it without looking, having gone back to it so much since he’d messed everything up. Sometimes, hearing the percussion in “Five Years”, he could still imagine Jericho in this very room, animatedly signing his love for music, and Dawn— when she was still <em>his </em>Dawn— translating what he said.</p><p class="p1">Dick should’ve learned, for Jericho. He would’ve done anything for Jericho, or at least that’s what he tells himself when he dreams of Jericho’s death. With time, he would’ve figured out the best way to help Jericho into his own power was to be able to truly communicate with him.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">American Sign Language came easy to him.</p><p class="p1">Dick never truly found languages hard—even before the best education the Wayne fortune could buy and a sleep deprived crime fighter could consume, Dick could speak three languages—but even he was surprised at how much he took to ASL. Within weeks, he could hold a conversation.</p><p class="p1">Sometimes, he could imagine placing a needle down on a particularly rare vinyl and telling Jericho every single memory attached to the memory. Every time he cooked with Alfred, every time he and Bruce laid out on a couch battered but alive, the concerts he’d managed to see. Indoor picnics with Dawn or secretly getting drunk with Donna in Bruce’s study at fifteen.</p><p class="p1">Dick had meant it when he said no more secrets. There had been so much to tell, and no time at all to say any of it.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Dick wrote what he wanted to say to Dawn, and Donna, and Hank over and over. The Hank draft was the shortest of the three, and even that started to take up multiple pages. Donna would have told him that rehearsing his apologies was a sign of how much the Bat fucked him up, but didn’t they all deserve the best apology possible? Editing his words made them no less sincere.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Dawn—</em>
</p><p class="p1"><em>You might </em> <strike><span class="s1"> <em>laugh</em> </span></strike> <em> curse at me, but I’ve </em> <strike><span class="s1"> <em>finally</em> </span></strike> <em> taken up ASL classes. They’re going </em> <strike><span class="s1"> <em>great </em> </span></strike> <em>well. It was </em> <strike><span class="s1"> <em>irresponsible </em> </span></strike> <em>unacceptable for me to put it off for this long.</em></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">He crossed out his latest words to Dawn.They started to feel like <em>bragging. </em>Who was he to boast? He’d only learned after Jericho died, only learned to understand him after he got him killed by his own father.</p><p class="p1">Maybe there was nothing he could say that would mend this chasm between them.</p><p class="p1">Dick flipped the page, and began to write a fourth letter.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Dear Jericho,</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I miss you terribly. I’m so sor</em>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">The pencil snapped in his hand.</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">After jumping from buildings, going back to the basics felt strange.</p><p class="p1">The school was more for hobbyists, but Dick didn’t mind. There was a class in the back and they weren’t in the air, instead working with silks in what was essentially a yoga class. Everyone had to start somewhere, and Dick admired the passion.</p><p class="p1">“Look, I’m just going to be honest here. I understand you want to go straight to flying and hey, you certainly look fit. But we gotta make sure you’re certified for Flying 2. We can’t let everyone go up on the trapeze.”</p><p class="p1">“I have experience.”</p><p class="p1">“Then it should be no problem zooming your way through the evaluation process. When your teachers say you’re ready to fly, you’re ready to fly. Whether that’s at the end of class one or never. Frankie, can we get some Aerial Conditioning paperwork for Mr. Grayson?”</p><p class="p1">In a moment, a small, muscular woman in yoga pants and a long flowing t-shirt peeked out from the back. “Did you say Grayson?” She looked him over, letting out a small laugh. “Holy shit, I recognize you from the Wayne Gala. <em>Dick</em> Grayson?”</p><p class="p1">Dick’s lips pressed together, a little pink from the recognition. “Hi.”</p><p class="p1">Frankie laughed harder, and then playfully hit her coworker’s side. “There’s no fucking way I’m putting Dick Grayson in an Aerial Conditioning class. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be weird, but holy <em>shit </em>I saw your parents in Los Angeles when I was twelve. Your mom made me want to do this.”</p><p class="p1">“She was incredible.” Dick smiled, thinking about his parents. Mary had first brought him up on the trapeze young, maybe at four years old. The systems weren’t as foolproof as they were in this school, but Dick felt safe swinging with his mother above the thin net. “Thank you.”</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Frankie was often the staff member who sits in on Dick’s sessions; sometimes it was an older man named Louie whose performing days are long behind him, but still has the bug. They both give him a wide berth, telling him to give a shout if he thought he needed any assistance with anything.</p><p class="p1">Dick didn’t take them up on that offer, instead letting himself do whatever came into his head. He felt like a child again, a premiere attraction in the circus with his parents. He could imagine the glitter around his eyes, the red and green leotard he’d based so much of Robin’s costume on, the lights focused directly on him.</p><p class="p1">As Robin, those lights meant danger, not applause.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Look at me, my little robin. Remember. Pick your point, and don’t ever look away, not even for a second.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">Mary Grayson’s first rule worked all too well for Robin, but for Dick Grayson, college student, there was no one point. Dick used to think he’d be directionless without it, but his calls with Alfred told him to look at this as possibility.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Could you remind me again what was their third rule, Master Dick?”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Alfred knew it all too well, but he wanted Dick to say it. “Pray you land somewhere soft.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">The third rule was the last resort, when all the planning went awry, and Dick had never allowed himself to reach that level before. He made allies, he found friends, he allowed his suit and weapons to upgrade to match the growing threats to Gotham and beyond.</p><p class="p1">His legs curled around the bar before flipping up onto his feet, pumping the trapeze like a swing.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Hank and Dawn never told him who found him in the church. Not that there was much opportunity before Hank and Dawn packed up and went together. Away from Dick. He’d always wondered if they managed to track down his location— he certainly didn’t tell them, and he didn’t think Jericho did either—or if he’d been found by the deacon, bloodied and apparently alone.</p><p class="p1">Dick Grayson woke up in the tower, in his own bed, his costume nowhere to be found. He could see the bandages around his body. Dawn told him that Donna was in the other room, but that he should focus on his healing. He’d been too out of it to notice how distant Dawn was acting.</p><p class="p1">“Dick. Where’s Jericho?”</p><p class="p1">“Hank. Look at him.” Dawn placed a hand on his chest, but Hank shrugged her away.</p><p class="p1">“What happened to Slade and Jericho?”</p><p class="p1">Dick didn’t have enough time to formulate an answer before he passed out again.</p><p class="p1">Later, when Dick offered his version of events on what happened at the church, Hank and Dawn didn’t offer any more information about his rescue. They’d been too preoccupied with the fact that they’d all left Jericho alone with his psychopath of a father.</p><p class="p1">Dick didn’t know Dawn had already checked out of their relationship when the conversation happened. Hank and Donna had already left. Dick rested his hand on Dawn’s shoulder.</p><p class="p1">“He would’ve listened if you told him not to go. You should’ve told him not to go.”</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">
  <strike> <span class="s1"> <em>Hank—</em> </span> </strike>
</p><p class="p1">
  <strike> <span class="s1"> <em>You were always right about me. I thought I knew better than everyone else, and I fucked it all up, and I’m so sorry.</em> </span> </strike>
</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Dick agreed to go back to Gotham for Christmas at Clark’s insistence; he was not sure what happened to Bruce that made <em>Clark</em> reach out, but when the Man of Steel asked for something, it was hard to say no.</p><p class="p1">Alfred led him to his room, which, besides the clean sheets, looked as if no one had been in there since they left.</p><p class="p1">“This space is yours, Master Dick.” Alfred said warmly. “I took the liberty of hanging up the clothes I felt would still fit you.”</p><p class="p1">“I missed you.” Dick turned to the man who raised him after his parents died, just as he raised Bruce before him. Donna and Dawn and Hank all found it humorous that Dick had a butler, but they didn’t understand. If Dick could get Alfred to drop the Master business, to allow Dick to serve Alfred on occasion, Dick would do it.</p><p class="p1">“I think Master Bruce is already in better spirits, having you home with us.”</p><p class="p1">“Where is he?”</p><p class="p1">“Pushing aside some last minute business so he may enjoy our night.”</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">And what a night it was.</p><p class="p1">Dick had worn a deeply cheesy, red Christmas sweater. It illicit a smile from Bruce and a chuckle from Alfred. Bruce was dressed as he always was, a sort of borderline formal wear that still made Bruce look like old money and tax evasion.</p><p class="p1">Dick had put in money for Alfred’s long planned vacation, and for Bruce, he’d gotten a new chess set. The figures weren’t anything too extravagant, something that his young adopted trapeze artist couldn’t accidentally break when Bruce had forced a fork. On two separate occasions, at that.</p><p class="p1">Alfred got Dick a personal cookware set, and Bruce handed him a check, accompanied by a picture of the both of them from when Dick was first adopted by Bruce.</p><p class="p1">Both gifts were so undeniably from the two men who had taken Dick in.</p><p class="p1">As Alfred began to clean up dinner, Dick found himself alone with Bruce, for maybe the first time since Dick had set off on his own. For college, and eventually for Titans. Dick looked at Bruce and saw the man wasn’t looking at him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.</p><p class="p1">“Let me go see if Alfred needs help,” Dick muttered. He’d hoped beyond hope that the world’s greatest detective didn’t notice his nerves.</p><p class="p1">Dick didn’t even make it out of the room before Bruce’s hand locked on his shoulder. His entire body stilled. He felt more like a soldier in Bruce’s army than his son in moments like this, and no matter how he tried, that nagging feeling had grown each time Bruce did this. “You didn’t tell me about your friend. Deathstroke’s son.”</p><p class="p1">Dick took a breath, and hoped Bruce didn’t notice how his body froze at the mere mention of Deathstroke’s name. Dick forced himself to move, to face Bruce. Bruce’s thumb rubbed against his clavicle. Bruce was reaching out for him, and Dick wanted, more than anything, for Bruce to make it right again.</p><p class="p1">“I didn’t know you knew him.”</p><p class="p1">“His name was Jericho,” Dick finally brought himself to speak, and he hated the softness of his tone.</p><p class="p1">Bruce stared at him for a moment, and Dick knew he was trying to size up his words. It had so often been Bruce and Alfred, with Alfred anticipating their needs so thoroughly, that Dick knew this conversation must have been hard on Bruce as well. “If there was a way I could have prepared you for this…”</p><p class="p1">“You and I both know it doesn’t gets easier.”</p><p class="p1">Bruce had nothing to say to that. He just guided Dick closer by the shoulder, enveloping him in a hug. Dick pressed his face into the shirt, willing himself to forget how the material wrinkled and how much it cost.</p><p class="p1">“If you wanted to… move back to Gotham.” Bruce’s head was pressed against his. “I would… your room, of course, would always be ready.”</p><p class="p1">Dick took a breath before pulling away. He wondered what Bruce wanted to say.</p><p class="p1">“I’ll finish college and we can talk about that again.”</p><p class="p1">“If that’s what you want.”</p><p class="p1">The tone in Bruce’s voice made Dick question the moment. “I think I’m where I’m supposed to be right now. If you ever need Robin, I’m only a call away, but right now, Dick Grayson needs to be in San Francisco.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m worried you’re punishing yourself.”</p><p class="p1">Dick was floored by how to the point Bruce could be. “You could come visit. See for yourself so you don’t have to keep tabs on me.” The words did it. Bruce’s gaze fell to the floor, and Dick began to reconsider the conversation that just happened. Alfred knew that Dick lost friends, but Dick hadn’t brought himself to admit who Jericho was. He couldn’t admit who Jericho was. “I think I supposed you just asked Donna, but that’s not it, is it? You got bugs on me?”</p><p class="p1">“I was concerned. Deathstroke could have killed you…”</p><p class="p1">“Plenty of people could have killed me right here in Gotham, Bruce.” Bruce flinched, and maybe it was below the belt, but Dick couldn’t bring himself to care. “What was this, some con to get me to come back, play out the good old days? Remind me what happened so I’d come crawling back?”</p><p class="p1">“Dick, it’s not like that…”</p><p class="p1">“When’s the last time you commissioned a costume for me, Bruce?” Dick and Bruce worked because they were both detectives, and Dick didn’t need a confirmation from him to know the answer. Still, he turned, heading directly for the Batcave.</p><p class="p1">“Dick!”</p><p class="p1">He knew Bruce was close behind him but if they had to chase, Dick was faster— Bruce wouldn’t try it. Bruce didn’t attempt to close the distance between them, instead following close behind.</p><p class="p1">Once Dick got to the Batcomputer, his fingers danced across the keyboard, the shortcut familiar enough to him to track any replacements or upgrades to the Robin gear. His eyes scanned the new gear before finding the date. The costume wasn’t even a month old.</p><p class="p1">“You just expected things to go back to the way they are after all this.” Dick’s hands fell to his stomach. He stepped away from the computer. “I lose Garth, and I lose Jericho, and now I can’t even be trusted to go to college outside of your watchful eye?”</p><p class="p1">“You didn’t lose them. Deathstroke took them from you.”</p><p class="p1">He didn’t even want to look at Bruce. “And you think it wouldn’t have happened if I was with you.”</p><p class="p1">“I didn’t say that.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry I’m not you!”</p><p class="p1">“Master Bruce, Master Dick.” Dick shook. It was worse to think Alfred saw this outburst. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.”</p><p class="p1">Dick could feel a hand on his shoulder, and out the corner of his eye, he could see Bruce near his back. “I know you don’t believe me now. But I never wanted you to be me.” There was more Bruce wanted to say, Dick could feel it thick between their bodies, but instead Bruce just gave one last squeeze before walking toward Alfred. Dick’s eyes followed his movements, and he wished Bruce had said whatever was spinning in his head. Dick would respect him more if he had just left his cards on the table.</p><p class="p1">But that wasn’t Dick’s way either, an insidious part of his brain reminded him. He deceived Jericho; he deceived the Titans. Anything to be the kind of man they could one day love again.</p><p class="p1">Once Bruce left the room, Dick brought himself to speak again. “I’m sorry, Alfred.”</p><p class="p1">“No apologies, Master Dick. I believe wholeheartedly that after we’ve debased ourselves, we have laid the foundation for true reconciliation.”</p><p class="p1">Dick’s head hung. When he said it like that, it felt as if the explosion was necessary. “Did you know about the costume?”</p><p class="p1">“You wanted options, Master Dick. Robin is an option.”</p><p class="p1">Dick nodded. He supposed that was true, even though it still felt as if Bruce had been waiting for Dick to fail, waiting for Dick to admit there was no Robin without Batman.</p><p class="p1">“Thank you for everything.”</p><p class="p1">Dick began to walk. He didn’t want to be in the Batcave any longer than was necessary. The memories here inevitably brought him to his failures with Batman and with the Titans. Alfred wrapped an arm around Dick’s shoulder once he reached him, and Dick couldn’t help but lean into it. “You know, Master Dick. You’ve come a long way with your sign language. But if you continue doing it in front of Master Bruce, he will catch on.”</p><p class="p1">“What?”</p><p class="p1">The smile on Dick’s face stayed plastered on. He didn’t recall doing any movements with his hands.</p><p class="p1">“I won’t breathe a word of it. Just be careful.”</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">When Dick got home, he found a package from Donna.</p><p class="p1">He stared at her name as if it would disappear. He turned the box over in his hands, a thin rectangular box, always going back to the name. <em>Donna Troy. </em>He had contact; he had an address. It was a printed label, and Dick wished he could see her handwriting.</p><p class="p1">Bruce’s instruction beat out most of Dick’s tics when it came to handwriting before he’d turned fifteen— his tendency to create cramped letters, often in a rush to write, the extra loop on an n or the way his lowercase /e/s looked more like /c/s. There was no point in a mask, he insisted, if Dick’s handwriting could give away his identity. Donna’s handwriting, though, was full of personality. She wrote with flourishes, as if she hadn’t decided if she were going to write in cursive or not. Her /t/s had long crosses and letters with tails like /a/s tended to cross into the next letter.</p><p class="p1">Had they ever not spoken this long?</p><p class="p1">After dinner, another round of leftovers, he poured himself a glass from the decanter Bruce had gotten him for his twenty-first birthday.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Who the fuck does Bruce think you are, James Bond?” Donna elbowed his side and grinned. “Bet he sent you the fancy pants bottle to go in it.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Dick grinned, and just pulled out a bottle of scotch. She laughed back.</em>
</p><p class="p1">Donna had poured one of Hank’s Jack Daniels bottle in the decanter, before pouring out five glasses. It was juvenile, and Bruce wouldn’t have cared if Dick put grape soda in the intricate glass bottle, but it meant the world to Dick.</p><p class="p1">The box was sitting unopened on the dining room table, never out of sight, taunting Dick with the knowledge of Donna’s peace offering. A breath. Dick swallowed the drink far too fast, the burn in his throat compelling him to open the box, careful not to break the cardboard. He didn’t want to cut into any of Donna’s words.</p><p class="p1">There was no note, but there were gifts.</p><p class="p1"><em>Just Kids, </em>paperback and new. He placed it down and pulled out, one by one, two vinyl records. <em>For Your Pleasure</em> and a live recording of the Velvet Underground. He actually had both, though at Wayne Manor. The eight minute version of “What Goes On” was a personal favorite.</p><p class="p1">Dick didn’t even notice his hands shaking until the record was out of his hands. It didn’t fall straight down, instead making a trajectory over the table. His eyes blinked, before looking down at his hands. He stretched his fingers out and turned both forward and back. Did he… throw it?</p><p class="p1">“Get it together,” he muttered, making his way to the record. Maybe he should call Donna. If she cared enough to put together a small care package, perhaps he could cut through this silence. It hurt enough to lose Jericho without losing his family again as well.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">This time, Dick didn’t dream of Slade, the church, or death. This time, there was only Jericho.</p><p class="p1">The two of them were sitting side by side, both wearing headphones. Dick didn’t need to speak to Jericho to know they were listening to the same song: <em>“</em>Circle Game.”</p><p class="p1">Jericho smiled at him, and for too brief a moment, Dick was back in time, a young man whose thirst for revenge was quenched by the kindness of another. The mendacity fell away in those moments, Dick shedding the great detective and the superhero away until he was just Dick. God, Dick didn’t even know who that was.</p><p class="p1">Despite the volume of the music, Dick could hear the next words clearly.</p><p class="p1">“You gotta help me, Dick.”</p><p class="p1">Dick’s head whipped around. There was the scar on Jericho’s throat— the one that rendered him unable to speak— but there was no one else here, and no one else who could have…</p><p class="p1">“I’m here.” His mouth was moving, and the words matched. This was undeniably Jericho. Jericho leaned over, and placed his hand on Dick’s thigh. Their faces were inches apart and Dick was suddenly ill. “I’m here.”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>We’re captive on the carousel of time</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>We can’t return we can only look behind</em>
</p><p class="p1">“Jericho.” Dick almost mouthed his name.</p><p class="p1">“I can’t do anything you won’t let me.”</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">The discussion on who would approach Deathstroke’s son wasn’t a conversation at all. Once Dick showed the Titans his intel on Adeline and Jericho, and laid out the basics of his plan,three sets of eyes landed on Dick.</p><p class="p1">“What?”</p><p class="p1">“Oh come on. You know it's got to be you,” Donna says, matter of factly.</p><p class="p1">“Well, I was thinking about that. Dawn does know sign language…”</p><p class="p1">Dawn rested a hand softly on his arm, and Dick forcefully ignored the way Hank’s eyes trained on the contact. “But what would we talk about?”</p><p class="p1">“I could coach you…”</p><p class="p1">“Dick, he can hear, it's fine. Plus it will look a little less planned if you don’t understand him.” Donna leaned forward. “Dawn and Hank don’t have experience with this, and you and I both know just how <em>likable </em>a bat can make himself when he feels up to the task.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m not Batman.”</p><p class="p1">Donna’s lips widened into a smile, her teeth bared, and Dick had no doubt she was seconds away from grabbing him. “We need a little more Gotham right now, Boy Wonder. Do it for Garth.”</p><p class="p1">Dick imagined that conversation often at his worst, the moment where all four of them were on the same page. Do it for <em>Garth</em>. It was Dick’s plan, but Dick didn’t really understand what he had done until it was too late. Befriend a young, innocent college student, show off your record collection, make him crave your approval… and then bring him around the Titans so they could pump him for information about Deathstroke.</p><p class="p1">And it worked. If Robin were Batman, Deathstroke would be behind bars. Or at least Dick would have a better answer for Arthur about Garth’s assassination.</p><p class="p1">Dick had always supposed that Slade had taken Jericho’s body. He’d wondered if Slade arranged a burial for him, or if he had cremated Jericho, spreading his ashes somewhere beautiful. Maybe he’d gone to his ex wife and returned the body, allowing Adeline her last goodbyes as well.</p><p class="p1">No one ever accused Slade of being sentimental, but perhaps, for Jericho…</p><p class="p1">Dick wished there was a headstone to visit, and not just the record store. Dick had played the honey pot before— Bruce couldn’t very well pretend to be someone else, and the silly playboy schtick wasn’t enticing to everyone—but he never truly grew comfortable in the role. He hated breaking the trust he’d managed to build, and to do it to Jericho— just to lose him—</p><p class="p1">Dick allowed his fingers to run over the records and just slide one out at random, whenever his fingers decided to stop. There was no real choice involved. He’d just remembered that dream, the way Jericho’s name caught in his throat, and imagined them experiencing something beautiful for the first time together.</p><p class="p1">In their brief friendship, Jericho took pride in trying to introduce Dick to a great song. Jericho was a firm believer in the memory of music, and he wanted a song to be <em>theirs. </em>A monument to a new friendship. He hadn’t succeeded yet, but with time, perhaps he could have.</p><p class="p1">“Lets see if this one impresses,” Dick said, to no one at all, but he could imagine Jericho’s enthusiastic response.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>***</em>
</p><p class="p1">Dawn never formally broke up with Dick, though the way that she’d left with Hank, Dick’s bruises not fully healed, told him all he needed to know. The man she could love died with Jericho, or maybe even with Garth before him. Maybe Dick wasn’t someone she could love at all, but he was beautiful and he didn’t sneak onto the roof with a needle in his pocket.</p><p class="p1">Dick wouldn’t be Bruce, but he still flirted with girls. He let himself feel the exhilaration of being noticed, and by the end of the night, he knew that being noticed was nowhere near enough. Not when he was in the middle of a smoke covered bar and nails pressed into his scars. They called him Dickie unbidden, and it never failed to make him feel like he was going to found murdered on a boat in San Remo.</p><p class="p1">He supposes it could be worse. He could be found murdered in a church, having failed the people who matter most to people.</p><p class="p1">He didn’t have sex that night, but he did dream of Jericho, skewered clean by his own father. He dreamed of those soft fingers on his cheek.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Look…</em>
</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">The black gown fit as well as any costume Dick had ever worn.</p><p class="p1">Dick hadn’t expected anyone to go to his graduation. His GPA was without blemish. HIs professors, when asked about the socialite in their midst, reported that Dick was studious and wrote a mean essay, but often had little to say in class. Friendly, but he’d made no close friends in his tenure, coming to and leaving campus alone.</p><p class="p1">Dick received four invites, and he began to get them ready, but stopped before the end. Sometimes, he looked at them— Alfred, Bruce, Dawn, Donna. Dawn’s had been the final invite, and when it came time to write the address, he was struck by the knowledge that he didn’t know it.</p><p class="p1">Dick could easily find out, but it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t ferret Dawn out if she didn’t want to be found. He wasn’t Batman.</p><p class="p1">Dick had seen a flash when he took his diploma, and he peered out. He recognized the suit, even if he couldn’t see the face over the lights. He didn’t care that clearly Bruce was still spying on him; they were here. Alfred and Bruce were <em>here.</em></p><p class="p1">Dick found them after the ceremony, sitting next to each other at a round table. Alfred stood up as Dick approached, arms opening for him. Without a word, Dick squeezed him extra tight, and Alfred left out a small laugh. “My goodness, Master Dick.”</p><p class="p1">On the other hand, as Dick faced Bruce, Bruce reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope, and Dick reached out to take his graduation gift. Dick pulled by the envelope and Bruce easily leaned into him,</p><p class="p1">“The board’s ecstatic. You’re going to be more prepared to lead Wayne Enterprises than I ever was.” Bruce’s arms wrapped around his body. It was the closest they’ve been since Dick left Gotham, and it was over far too soon. Bruce’s hands settled on his shoulders as he looked him over. “I suppose I just didn’t know that you wanted this life.”</p><p class="p1">“Wasn’t the life I wanted before I left Gotham.” Dick wasn’t sure he wanted it now, but if Dick was going to survive this patch, he needed all his options open. Dick Grayson, the sole heir of a multibillion dollar company, was as absurd a fallback as a circus acrobat who became a superhero.</p><p class="p1">“You shouldn’t be trying to force yourself into a box you don’t fit in. You know… you once said, that when you graduated, we’d have a certain talk.”</p><p class="p1">Dick hated how much just being around Bruce made him feel prepubescent. He could almost look down and see green booties and bare knees.</p><p class="p1">“Are you asking me to come home?” Dick didn’t want to hear what Bruce thought he wanted anymore. If Bruce wanted Dick back in Gotham, if Bruce wanted Batman and Robin again… Bruce had to admit what he wanted.</p><p class="p1">“We’re proud of you, Master Dick.”</p><p class="p1">Dick turned to Alfred, and he sees Alfred’s brow furrowed. His gaze lowered, down to his hands, and he could see them moving. His right hand clenched in a fist, resting on his left palm, his hands lightly bouncing towards his body.</p><p class="p1">After all his lessons, that one was easy.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Help me.</em>
</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Dick opened the envelope at home.</p><p class="p1">It was indeed a check. There was no note, but a picture of Bruce, Dick, and Alfred from Dick’s seventeenth birthday.</p><p class="p1">
  <strike> <span class="s1"> <em>Dear Donna,</em> </span> </strike>
</p><p class="p1">
  <strike> <span class="s1"> <em>You always said it was a shame that I couldn’t talk to Bruce like I used to but you wouldn’t believe</em> </span> </strike>
</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">“Um, Dick?”</p><p class="p1">Dick looked up from where he was sitting, water bottle sat on his lower lip. Frankie was rubbingher left arm.</p><p class="p1">“Have you… I mean you’ve been coming here for a while now. You’re far and away the best person I’ve seen up there. And I mean, stop me if I’m overstepping, but… have you ever considered performing again?”</p><p class="p1">Dick took another drink. In truth, he never stopped performing.</p><p class="p1">“Not really.”</p><p class="p1">“It wouldn’t have to be… the circus, you know? I usually do static aerials at a burlesque show, and Louie has some real weird connections on like, cruise ships and shit.”</p><p class="p1">Dick nodded. He wondered if that’s where he would be, had Bruce not found him, or if his youthful thirst for vengeance would have derailed that as well. “I’ll think about it.”</p><p class="p1">“Even if it's just a short time gig. I think you were born for center stage.”</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Dick had wanted to give himself options, and it was beginning to feel time to choose.</p><p class="p1">There was a restlessness in his limbs since his graduation. Dick had been a performer, then a vigilante for years. He’s never been just a young man, and he doesn’t think he could last much longer without a feeling of purpose.</p><p class="p1">Dick poured himself a generous glass of wine and thoughtlessly put on a record. Why couldn’t he relax? Being Robin didn’t work; being a Flying Grayson didn’t work. Was he just going to shed one costume for another the rest of his life? What was next, a golden shield, waiting around a floodlight for a vigilante who will effect real change? Trading the form fitting costumes for a bespoke suit, running a company far larger than any one company had the right to be?</p><p class="p1">Maybe Dick couldn’t be happy. Maybe the problem wasn’t any one costume, but the man wearing them…</p><p class="p1">Dick paused. The song….</p><p class="p1">He hadn’t really noticed what he was doing, but now that he could hear this version of “Vonal Declosion”, he knew something was wrong.Sure enough, he picked up the sleeve, turning it around. There, in silver marker, was Jericho’s name.</p><p class="p1">This was the one he bought for Jericho. The one that should still be in Jericho’s room, with Jericho’s things.</p><p class="p1">His hand went to grab the needle— he wasn’t going to play along with this— but froze in place. Maybe he could let it play. If this was a game someone— he knew who he thought it was—was playing, Dick would not show how much a song rocked him.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Dick immediately swept the tower.</p><p class="p1">In the command center, he created a program to look through the security data and find any irregularities, no matter how fleeting, as far back as Garth’s death. Anything that could’ve been passed off as a momentary glitch. He also put a program over Jericho’s room, looking for any sign of life. The program would probably even catch a mosquito by the window.</p><p class="p1">No matter how good Deathstroke was, there would still be a stitch where he mended the connection.</p><p class="p1">Maybe he waited until Dick began to move on to show his face. If that was the case, Slade underestimated the deep sadness in Dick Grayson. He supposed to an outsider, the sight of the rich boy graduating college while Jericho no longer could…</p><p class="p1">Dick began to lock down weapons when his hand froze again. Was there a paralytic in the wine? Perhaps he’d already lost and he didn’t even know it.</p><p class="p1">Dick’s hands met in front of his waist and tightened into fists, almost as if he was holding a staff, and then pointed at himself. As they kept moving, Dick began to catch on.</p><p class="p1">“Trust me. Don’t be afraid.”</p><p class="p1">Dick repeated the words verbally. Fuck, this was bad, this was…</p><p class="p1">His right hand moved, forming letters.</p><p class="p1"><em>Jericho</em>.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Dick felt like he couldn’t stand still. He could barely breathe.</p><p class="p1">He ran to the bathroom, locking it, and looked at himself in the mirror. His hands grasped the sink and immediately loosened. There was still a chance this could be Deathstroke, or any number of villains, but… This was Jericho’s power.</p><p class="p1">Dick’s reflection looked manic. His jaw was clenched, his eyes were wide, and he was leaning too far forward. Dick would think he was going crazy if he hadn’t grown up with Batman.</p><p class="p1">“Jericho? Is that you?”</p><p class="p1">Dick began to consider other explanations. The Batman’s paranoia demanded it. There was no head gear, so that ruled out Tetch and Sionis. If it was Grodd, Dick doubted he wouldn’t be aware of Grodd’s presence at all. They were all the bragging types too, and if they knew they had Robin, he would have already had his hands around Bruce’s throat.</p><p class="p1">Dick didn’t feel his hands move at all; if he wasn’t looking in the mirror, he would have thought his arms were still by his sides. Both hands pointed at his mouth, and then shot out to the sides of his face, his mouth dropping open.</p><p class="p1">The translation came to him easily. “Finally.”</p><p class="p1">“Jericho,” Dick gasped, and he fell to his knees, still looking in the mirror. His own body responded, Dick essentially talking to himself. Maybe he was letting himself believe this too easily, and Bruce would be disappointed with him…</p><p class="p1">“Hello Dick.”</p><p class="p1">“Have you been with me the whole time?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes.”</p><p class="p1">Hadn’t that been the question all along? Why, after killing Jericho, had Slade spared him? Part of Dick was never satisfied with the idea that Deathstroke himself was so overcome with grief that he’d left Dick behind. There had to be more, Slade Wilson had to hate him more, Dick <em>deserved </em>to lose his life for what happened to Jericho.</p><p class="p1">“You jumped into me at the church.”</p><p class="p1">“Yes.”</p><p class="p1">“Why didn’t you tell me before?”</p><p class="p1">“I tried. I swear.”</p><p class="p1">Hadn’t he? The sign language classes, the music, the <em>dreams</em>. There were signs, and Dick just wrote them off as grief. He didn’t understand.</p><p class="p1">“Does Slade know?” Dick’s hands didn’t move for much too long. “I’ll take that as a yes.”</p><p class="p1">“He won’t hurt you. Not while I’m with you.” Dick’s fingers pointed at the mirror for you and at himself for I, but either way, all roads lead back to the same body. Dick’s body.</p><p class="p1">“You’re alive. You’ve been with me this whole time.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry. I was scared. It was you or dad.” Dick didn’t feel his eyes burn, but one of his hands was already up, wiping his eyes. The other, in an A, circled around Dick’s chest.</p><p class="p1">“Don’t apologize. Not to me. Not after what I did.”</p><p class="p1">Dick was only staring at his own reflection, and he yearned to see Jericho in front of him, but this was better than anything he could have imagined. He said he’d do anything for Jericho, and somehow, he had.</p><p class="p1">“No more apologies for the both of us.”</p><p class="p1">Dick wasn’t sure he could keep that promise, but he nodded anyway. For Jericho, he would try.</p><p class="p1">“Can we go to the trapeze again?”</p><p class="p1">Dick grinned, letting out a small chuckle. “Yeah. I think I can arrange that.”</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Robin, of course, never used a net, even if the youngest Flying Grayson did. That was the second rule of Mary Grayson’s, and unlike Dick Grayson, Robin never went past the first rule.</p><p class="p1">Knowing Jericho was with him, Dick could feel how much tighter his hand was on the bar. “Relax,” he whispered, hoping no one caught the sound of it. He could do this in his sleep, but Jericho was another matter entirely. “I got us.”</p><p class="p1">Dick could almost hear Bruce saying <em>I’ve taught you better than this.</em></p><p class="p1">When Dick pushed off, he could almost feel the second pair of hands on top of his. He meant to ask if he was ready, but instead, Dick began to work his momentum up. This had to be entirely Dick, or they were going to fall into the net, but he could also feel Jericho in his entire being. When his legs went up and his feet caught the ropes, he could feel Jericho’s fear and exhilaration.</p><p class="p1">“I got us.”</p><p class="p1">When Dick flipped to a standing position, he could feel Jericho trying to get as much of Dick’s feet on the bar as possible.</p><p class="p1">“I got us.”</p><p class="p1">When Dick allowed his body to fall, he could feel his hands flail a moment early to catch the bar.</p><p class="p1">“I got us.”</p><p class="p1">Dick let go of the bar at the end, landing like he was trained on the net. For a moment, Dick just breathed, small little chuckles that felt a lot more like Jericho’s than his own. After getting a drink of water, his hands began to move.</p><p class="p1">“I can’t believe you left this behind.”</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Using a mirror, Dick found, was best.</p><p class="p1">He went to the record store and allowed his hands to pick up whatever, and what he thought was random once was most certainly all Jericho. Dick had allowed Jericho to pick dinner, although Jericho was quite yielding, allowing for a dinner Dick was sure they’d both love. Dick essentially spent the next few hours talking to himself in the mirror, and it was easily the best part of his week.</p><p class="p1">Dick sat cross legged in front of the full length mirror in the training room, a plate of bolognese and a glass of water between himself and his reflection. Jericho insisted on a frozen garlic bread from a nearby 99 cent store, and Dick had to admit, he kind of liked it.</p><p class="p1">“I could give you more control sometime. Let you do whatever you want.”</p><p class="p1">He could feel Bruce’s disappointment. He wondered if the other man was still spying on him, and whether or not his father already knew. Bruce would chide him for his faith in the ghost in his body.</p><p class="p1">Dick’s hands picked at his clothes, and Dick laughed.</p><p class="p1">“What’s wrong with the way I dress?”</p><p class="p1">Jericho didn’t answer that one.</p><p class="p1">“Hey. With Hank, it was a full body hijack. Why isn’t it like that for me?”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t know. When you woke up, I was aware but I couldn’t reach you. Maybe because I died. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t have a lot of control. Just your hands for a short time.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry I didn’t pick up on it before.”</p><p class="p1">“We said no more apologies.”</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Dick knew where Jericho had lived— he had the file still—but he allowed Jericho the drive from San Francisco to Nevada. Batman’s paranoia demanded satisfaction, and while a villain could feasibly trick Dick, there was no way Adeline wouldn’t know her son.</p><p class="p1">And she deserved to know that her son was alive.</p><p class="p1">The door opened, and Dick was almost shocked to see how normal she was. She wore a cardigan, and her hair was in a neat bun. That she had somehow gotten tangled with Slade Wilson, and held her own in the divorce, made her a force to be reckoned with, but Dick had expected someone more intimidating.</p><p class="p1">Dick could see so much of Jericho in her.</p><p class="p1">The move was involuntary; Dick stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her. “Oh!” She yelped, as Dick—no, Jericho—squeezed her tightly. His head rested on her shoulder, and he rocked from side to side with her.</p><p class="p1">“A little too quick.” Dick muttered.</p><p class="p1">“You’re telling me.”</p><p class="p1">Adeline was surprisingly gentle in untangling herself from Dick’s grasp. She stepped back, before looking him over.</p><p class="p1">“I did not mean to startle you,” Dick offered. “My name is DIck Grayson, and I was hoping we could talk.”</p><p class="p1">“I know who you are. I’m surprised you didn’t come sooner. Come in.”</p><p class="p1">Adeline led him inside. Dick looked at the walls as they move. The home was very much a home, littered with knick knacks in places they didn’t belong— he was sure the vases on the radiator had a precarious position— and pictures. Pictures of Jericho. In the largest one, he had to be six years old, in a blue button up and tie, grinning without one of his front teeth.</p><p class="p1">“Let me talk first.” Dick said, under his breath.</p><p class="p1">Jericho didn’t respond.</p><p class="p1">“Water? Tea?”</p><p class="p1">“Water’s fine, thank you.”</p><p class="p1">Alfred always told him to take up hospitality when it was offered.</p><p class="p1">Adeline showed him to the table, and then retreated into the kitchen. Dick forced himself to sit. What if she didn’t believe him? What if he and Jericho couldn’t make her understand? Adeline placed a glass of water in front of him, and sat with her own mug of tea.</p><p class="p1">“I suppose before we get into it…” Dick took a breath. “I want to say I’m sorry. We made a terrible mistake; I made a terrible mistake. I took advantage of Jericho to get to your husband. He killed a friend of ours and I wanted to make him pay. I didn’t know how else to do it. I targeted Jericho. I found him in a record store, I befriended him, and I got in the middle of a family.”</p><p class="p1">All the things Dick wanted to say to Jericho, too. About what he did, about the blood on his hands.</p><p class="p1">“My family.”</p><p class="p1">“Yes, your family.”</p><p class="p1">Adeline took a breath. “He loved you. And your friends.” Dick felt something in his chest tighten, and he knew they couldn’t talk about Jericho like he wasn’t in the room anymore. “But you said <em>before we get into it</em>, so I suppose you’re not just here so I can make you feel better, huh?”</p><p class="p1">“No. This may be hard to believe.”</p><p class="p1">“Try me.”</p><p class="p1">Dick took a breath, and this time, he wasn’t sure if that wasn’t Jericho himself.</p><p class="p1">“I don’t know what dad told you. I’m sure he believes it.” Dick’s hands moved rapidly. “I went to talk to him, and Dick came after us.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s not funny, Mr. Grayson.”</p><p class="p1">“Dad wanted to kill Dick. I stopped him. You told me to always close the curtains and check in closets. Dad made us be vigilant. Dad made me think a bracelet would keep me safe, but he was always the danger. Dick didn’t get me killed. Dad killed me. I would’ve died if I didn’t jump into Dick.”</p><p class="p1">Adeline stood up, eyes wide. “You don’t expect me to believe…”</p><p class="p1">“Dad used to bring dried mango home when he was away long. You called it candy but I never liked it, so dad started to grab chocolate before coming home.”</p><p class="p1">“What kind?”</p><p class="p1">Without hesitation, Dick’s hands responded. “M&amp;Ms peanut.”</p><p class="p1">“This isn’t how it works, Jericho’s power—“</p><p class="p1">Dick responded verbally. “We think it works differently because Jericho no longer has a body. It took me a long time to figure it out.”</p><p class="p1">“My control is best with Dick’s hands.”</p><p class="p1">“This is why you hugged me.”</p><p class="p1">“Mom.”</p><p class="p1">“Jericho?”</p><p class="p1">This time, it was Adeline hugging him close without warning. Dick wrapped his arms around her smaller body.</p><p class="p1">Adeline finally pulled away, enough so that she could see what Dick’s hands were doing. Her hands wiped her eyes before she spoke. “Does your father know?”</p><p class="p1">“I think so. Don’t tell him that Dick knows now too.”</p><p class="p1">“Of course he kept this from me.” Adeline put her hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Does the <em>Bat </em>know?”</p><p class="p1">“I haven’t told him.”</p><p class="p1">“Don’t bullshit me Grayson. Does he know? If you love my son like I think you do, then you need to know the answer to this question. Don’t sit there and tell me that Bruce Wayne wouldn’t do anything in his power to remove the ghost possessing his precious son.”</p><p class="p1">That made sense, and Dick nodded, thinking about the last couple of days. He considered protecting Bruce’s identity, but the look in Adeline’s eyes told him there was no need. Once people knew he was Dick Grayson, unmasking Bruce Wayne was hardly a matter of detective work. “Bruce spies on me. He’ll know I came here.”</p><p class="p1">“We’ll make something up before you go. Do you think he’s watching or listening in at the tower?”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t think so, but I’ve learned not to underestimate his paranoia.”</p><p class="p1">“Sweep your tower. Be sure.” Adeline squeezed his shoulder. “Slade never let me see my son’s body. I was angry at him for depriving me of the funeral, but I suppose I know why now. If he thinks that your body is the only way Jericho can live, he’ll try to exorcise you from your own body.”</p><p class="p1">Jericho was the one who responded to that. “I won’t let him.”</p><p class="p1">Adeline smiled warmly, but that was for Jericho. Her words were all for Dick. “This has to be between the three of us. I’ll protect you from Slade if you protect my son from Bruce. If you’re truly sorry for seducing my son, this is it. This is your apology.”</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Dick and Jericho didn’t stay too long. Dick could tell Jericho and Adeline wanted to—it would have been so easy, to have dinner, to let Jericho sleep in his mother’s house— but they could explain Dick coming to apologize. They couldn’t explain Dick spending the night.</p><p class="p1">“Do you really think Batman would kill me?”</p><p class="p1">Dick’s eyes widened, his foot pressing down in shock. That was his voice, but that was Jericho. Dick’s voice hadn’t sounded that insecure since… well, since he was a child. Something darker had replaced it. Dick used to wonder if he wasn’t enough, and now he wondered if he was too much.</p><p class="p1">Dick cursed the moment he regained control of his voice, righting his car. “Jesus Jericho, you can’t surprise me like that.”</p><p class="p1">Without the voice, Jericho couldn’t respond, but Dick felt the anticipation in his bones.</p><p class="p1">“Your mom was right.”</p><p class="p1">It was an acknowledgement without bringing himself to say it. Bruce didn’t believe in killing, but Jericho was already dead, and Dick was Dick.</p><p class="p1">“I won’t let anything happen to you, Jericho. Not again.”</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Jericho asked Dick to dance in the tower one night, after they’d decided together that tonight wasn’t much of a night for anything other than takeout.</p><p class="p1">“Come on, I’ve seen you in the air. You’ve got to be a better than Hank.”</p><p class="p1">Dick laughed. “A low bar to climb.”</p><p class="p1">“Please.”</p><p class="p1">“If you insist.” Dick needed a generous shot of whatever they had. If he was going to be ridiculous, may as well go all the way. “How do you expect this to work?”</p><p class="p1">“Control your body for the dance.”</p><p class="p1">It wasn’t the same, Dick thought, as what they were supposed to have. Dick imagined Dawn in her comfortable sweaters, Hank tapping his toe in the corner until one of the girls forced him to awkwardly get up. Donna would need some dragging as well, but once she gave into it, unlike Hank, she’d be more than up to the task once she was on her feet. Maybe Donna could’ve gotten her to move. Maybe Garth.</p><p class="p1">Dick’s body moved easily at Jericho’s command. He was right, Dick’s body was much more meant for movement than Hank’s was, and Dick could feel Jericho’s elation at the revelation. Dick’s hands reached up high, fingers spread as if he could touch the ceiling. His head tilted back before his entire body spun, held steady on one foot. He could feel Jericho sliding his body back into a split, before swinging both of his legs forward.</p><p class="p1">There were smaller movements— and much like with Hank, Jericho couldn’t resist adding a little Michael— but Jericho seemed to know what Dick’s body could do, and he wanted to test it all. Dick could feel his body preparing for a standing backflip before he’d done it; Jericho dropped and caught Dick’s body on his hands and then did a headstand. It was all easy in Dick’s body; anything his muscles didn’t learn from the circus, they’d learned from Bruce.</p><p class="p1">Jericho loved it as much as he loved putting a hand by his belly and just swaying. Jericho loved it so much that Dick could feel it. The warmth in his body, the way his pulse raced… could Jericho feel Dick’s own emotions like this? So fully they almost changed the mood entirely.</p><p class="p1">“I’m not even breathing heavy.” Dick still had trouble hearing Jericho use his voice. “Holy shit, Dick.” Jericho swung Dick’s hips, moving in a circle as the tempo of the song began to slow. “You love this, Dick. I don’t think you need to know who you are at all times, but… Maybe you should do this again. You could be a super cop acrobat billionaire meat suit. Do it all.”</p><p class="p1">Dick could laugh, but Jericho still had control of his mouth.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Frankie’s burlesque company was doing a limited Christmas show throughout the month of December, and Frankie was thrilled when he asked for more information about it.</p><p class="p1">“The audition is totally a formality, when I showed them your tapes, they were over the moon about you.”</p><p class="p1">“My tapes from when I was a kid?”</p><p class="p1">“You forget I’ve seen you in the air here. You haven’t missed a step. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were still an active performer.” Frankie’s fist gently connected with Dick’s arm. “You ever work with straps before, or just the trapeze?”</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">There were no nets, which Dick could feel Jericho’s anticipation about.</p><p class="p1">It was a simple enough routine, by Flying Graysons standards, much less by Robin standards. Dick and Frankie represented snowfall, and the romance of a cold, dark winter night. The costumes were white and dark blue. Frankie wasn’t much different from Donna or Dawn in that regard; out of her glasses and usual yoga attire, she was an entirely different person, much more assured of herself. Her natural excitement fell away in the air.</p><p class="p1">Jericho found the whole thing very hot, which just made Dick laugh.</p><p class="p1">“I feel like I’m intruding.”</p><p class="p1">“Don’t make it weird,” Dick teased.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">Dick didn’t bother trying to hide it. He was certain that, once the flyer got out announcing the return of the last of the Flying Graysons, he would get a call from Bruce anyway. He emailed Alfred and Bruce a jpg of the flyer and a promise for tickets if they should find themselves in the Bay Area in December.</p><p class="p1">Alfred called him first.</p><p class="p1">“To my understanding, these tend to get risqué, no?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m not taking off any clothes if that’s what you’re asking. But yes, others will be taking off their clothes.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m sure Master Bruce will have something to say.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s why I emailed him, Alfred. Thought he’d like to hear it from me and not through research.”</p><p class="p1">“Speaking of that, I’ve had a couple chats with him regarding you.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh? What did you say?”</p><p class="p1">“He’s agreed to relax his natural curiosity, but he’d like it if you called in more.” Dick shook his head, unable to help smiling; the euphemism bordered on absurd, but if Alfred was anything, it was diplomatic. “I also hope we can visit one another more frequently. Master Bruce wants to respect your space, though, so our visits are entirely up to you.”</p><p class="p1">Entirely up to Dick. That would be a first.</p><p class="p1">Later that night, as Dick was cleaning up, Bruce called.</p><p class="p1">“I didn’t know you still had a bug for performing.”</p><p class="p1">“I fought crime with a man dressed as a bat.”</p><p class="p1">Dick always could score a point over Bruce in that way. When he was a kid, he joked on him even more; the quips were borderline corny, but they kept Bruce from being too serious. Even though he was young, sometimes the League relayed news in front of him, to temper Bruce’s mood. As he got older, they relayed news through him as well.“There will be attention on you, once this gets out. I hope you’ve considered that.”</p><p class="p1">“I appreciate your concern, Bruce. Should I be expecting you? It would be a good reprieve from the gray, slushy Gotham winter.”</p><p class="p1">“Alfred will let you know if we can make it.”</p><p class="p1">“Hey Bruce?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes?”</p><p class="p1">“I think you should bring me the new suit when you do.” Dick didn’t wait for a response; he wanted to get it out before Bruce could make him feel like a child. If this was Bruce's way of showing affection, Dick could do it as well. “After all, if you ever need me, I should have everything on hand, right?”</p><p class="p1">Once Dick hung up, he looked in the mirror. He knew Jericho heard all of that, and as much as Jericho’s issues with his father had been on display in life, Jericho was now getting a firsthand look at Dick’s.</p><p class="p1">“Progress.”</p><p class="p1">Dick grinned at his reflection.</p><p class="p1">“Is Superman getting an invite?”</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">“You know, when the billionaire heir of Bruce Wayne decides to dust off his tights and do a goddamn burlesque show, I expect to be the first one called.”</p><p class="p1">Dick had froze when he saw Donna’s name on his phone; Jericho was the one who answered it, and Dick could do nothing but shoot an evil look into the mirror.</p><p class="p1">“Hi Donna.”</p><p class="p1">Bruce was right; once the flyer came out, news that Bruce Wayne’s sole heir was doing a limited return to aerial acrobatics was huge. Dick couldn’t bring himself to look at the coverage; the questions he got usually ended up landing on his final performance, and his parents, and Dick wasn’t sure he could bring himself to read his answers. Luckily, there were a lot more questions about <em>Bruce</em> and what he thought about it.</p><p class="p1">“Don’t hi Donna me. I’ve seen the recording, you’re in a fucking crop top and blue and silver glitter, you had to know I’d want to know.”</p><p class="p1">Dick laughed. It would have been easy to pretend that no one had died, that the team was still together, that Donna was still his best friend. “You know, it says very clearly on the ticket no audiovisual recordings allowed.” Dick’s free hand moved in a circle, and he didn’t have to know sign language to know Jericho was urging him on. “We’re going until New Years. If you can make a flight, I’ve got a ticket with your name on it.”</p><p class="p1">“Well fortunately for you I’m on assignment in Dachau, I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it to San Francisco. Maybe if we wrap up early here…”</p><p class="p1">“You’re doing photography?” Dick grinned.</p><p class="p1">“Don’t sound so surprised.”</p><p class="p1">“Well I know they were urging you to return to Themyscira before. I kind of just assumed when you left…”</p><p class="p1">“I convinced them to let me stay after Jillian died.”</p><p class="p1">Something was… off. Dick would have never considered that Donna was hiding the truth from him before. It was Donna Troy, <em>older, smarter, prettier</em> Donna. But then again, wasn’t he hiding things from Donna? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be as huge as Jericho swimming around his body.</p><p class="p1">“You’re wondering why I haven’t got in contact before, but Dick, the phone works both ways. I would have liked to hear from you too.”</p><p class="p1">“I guess it was hard… for the both of us. After everything.”</p><p class="p1">“Boy Wonder and Wonder Girl not so wonderful, huh?”</p><p class="p1">Dick wanted to tell her everything. How Jericho died for him, how Jericho sometimes showed up in his hands and mouth, how Dick had ruined everything.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>If you’re truly sorry for seducing my son, this is it. This is your apology.</em>
</p><p class="p1">Donna would tell Bruce.</p><p class="p1">“Dick… I’m going to try really hard to make your show. I can’t promise anything.”</p><p class="p1">“I miss you,” Dick said simply. Bruce was all secrets, and Dick had to be better, but not about this. Not yet, not until Jericho was safe. “I really appreciated the package by the way. I should’ve called you then and I’m sorry.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”</p><p class="p1">Dick grimaced. “You know, around last Christmas…”</p><p class="p1">“Oh… March, right? Look, they were Bruce’s toys anyway, I didn’t feel comfortable keeping them. I know I should’ve sent them to you, but maybe I was afraid of you calling me. We made a lot of mistakes, Dick. I… made a lot of mistakes.”</p><p class="p1">“When did we expect the both of us to be perfect?” Dick wondered if Donna could hear his own dishonesty. But if he didn’t move her on from the conversation, he knew she would figure out something was wrong.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">The first time Dick wore the Robin suit since his encounter with Deathstroke is at Jericho’s behest. Jericho wanted to experience the other way he flew, the jumping off buildings and hoping a high tensile monofilament wire could catch a grown man in free fall. Dick’s, much like Bruce’s, had a motorized pulley, but Dick climbed his much more than Bruce did.</p><p class="p1">Dick could almost trace the places where Deathstroke stabbed him. Had Robin been a target all along, or was this penance for what he’d done to Jericho? If the contract for Garth’s life covered all of them, Deathstroke wouldn’t have rest until all the Titans were dead, but Dick supposed that changed when Jericho became a Titan.</p><p class="p1">When Jericho was the one whom Deathstroke killed.</p><p class="p1">“Why the colors?”</p><p class="p1">That was Jericho’s way of introducing his request. He made conversation, allowed Dick to really think about his suit before admitting that Jericho wanted to feel what it was like to be Robin.</p><p class="p1">Dick shrugged. “Batman’s deal was fear. He wanted to be someone that villains saw and knew they were about to face justice. I wasn’t… after that. Not as a kid, not now.”</p><p class="p1">“What did you want?”</p><p class="p1">“I guess I wanted to be a symbol for the victims. Not fear, but hope. Justice isn’t just punishing the guilty.” Dick knew who he wanted to be, and what he wanted Robin to be, but that just wasn’t how life worked. Robin couldn’t be a pure symbol while there was a man under the mask. Robin made mistakes; Robin failed. Robin failed Garth, and Jericho, and the Titans.</p><p class="p1">“I wish I could have learned from you.”</p><p class="p1">“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”</p><p class="p1">“Yes I did. I wanted to do good with my power. Like you. Remember the guy from the record store?”</p><p class="p1">And Dick did. He remembered that Jericho humiliated him and made him apologize, but also that Jericho made him pay for his records. It was rough around the edges, but it was more than vengeance. It was what Bruce saw in him, all those years ago, desperate to bring his parents’ killers to justice. Some people were born to save the world, but didn’t know how. With the right guidance, though?</p><p class="p1">Jericho could’ve been extraordinary. Better than Dick ever was.</p><p class="p1">Could be. Jericho might not have his body, but Jericho was alive. Dick and Jericho would figure this out together.</p><p class="p1">Fully dressed in the red, green, and gold, on the roof, Jericho was surprised at how insulating the Robin suit could be. It wasn’t very cold in San Francisco compared to Gotham winters, either, but they were comfortable.</p><p class="p1">“So, if you had to guess, how much rope is on me right now?”</p><p class="p1">Dick could feel his body move as he scanned the costume. “This is so cool.” Dick’s hands grabbed the utility belt, feeling the pockets. To the untrained eye, they weren’t very big, but Jericho had seen him fight. He knew about Robin’s staff, the smoke grenades, the <em>R-</em>shaped shurikens.</p><p class="p1">“I don’t see any rope.”</p><p class="p1">“Over 100 feet.”</p><p class="p1">“Shut up.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m serious, and I’m going to show you.”</p><p class="p1">Dick’s head tilted up against his will, looking at the sunset. The sky above was a darker blue, zig zagged with a deep orange red. The lower his eyes went, the more it dipped into yellows and burnt oranges.</p><p class="p1">Had Dick ever slowed down in San Francisco and just looked at the sky? It was nothing like Gotham’s, smoke coating tall buildings in a way that reflected the criminality that bred around all that money. In Gotham City, you either made a fair amount of money, or you just couldn’t leave. Dick could remember the black clouds in the air in Gotham, and how much he truly missed the beauty of the world remaining in Gotham.</p><p class="p1">“Beautiful.” Dick’s hands signed. “I can’t imagine seeing this every night.”</p><p class="p1">Even after everything, Jericho still had an admiration for Robin. Dick couldn’t pretend in front of him. Reputation did more to hide his identity than a domino mask ever could. It was Bruce’s weapon, the playboy billionaire who blew a cool million just so he and two girls Dick’s age could splash in a reflecting pool and then gave just as much to charity.</p><p class="p1">“I’m not who you think I am.”</p><p class="p1">Dick’s head shook, and he looked down at his hands.</p><p class="p1">“Then show me who you are.”</p><p class="p1">Dick didn’t know how to respond to that. Instead, he picked out the right building for that he was about to pull off, and changed the subject before he had too much time to consider who Dick Grayson was.</p><p class="p1">“What’s the highest thing you’ve fallen off of?”</p>
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